


The Lights in the Shadow

by medievalfantasist



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Addiction, Blood, Cutting, Trauma, Vomiting, and there's a dog, but also recovery from trauma, the dog lives (in case you're worried)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-18 20:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medievalfantasist/pseuds/medievalfantasist
Summary: What happened to Lily after Jowan's betrayal?





	1. Aeonar

_The one who repents, who has faith,_

_Unshaken by the darkness of the world,_

_She shall know true peace._

_-Transfigurations 10_

 

“He’s taking too long,” Lily fretted. “He went to Irving. Or Greagoir. Or both.” She wrung her hands, pacing in the small alcove where she and Jowan waited.

“Patience,” Jowan soothed. He took her shoulders, stopping her pacing. She let him, though her training could have easily had him on the floor in a second. It wouldn’t be the first time; Jowan liked it a little rough, and she was happy to oblige.

“I’ve known Drake since we were kids,” Jowan continued. “He wouldn’t betray me.” His eyes flashed red and he drew a knife from somewhere. “Because I have his mind,” he rasped. He took her wrist and dragged the knife down it, opening a red line.

*

Her screaming blended in with the sounds from the other cells, and she sat up, sweat pouring off of her, gripping her unmarred arm.

_Just a nightmare. He never hurt me. He never used blood magic on me._

The walls of Aeonar were cold stone, and they whispered. Even for a non-mage like Lily, the Fade was a constant pressure against the mind. The nightmares were the demons trying to get in, the Templars told her, and if they ever did, they’d kill her immediately.

Blood magic made both mage and anyone the mage had worked on more susceptible to demonic possession. Demons crowded close to Aeonar for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to Lily. But it made a perfect crucible to check for abominations or the potential for abominations.

Lily found it abhorrent. _You might not be an abomination, but we’re going to put you in a position that will make it really easy for it to happen, then kill you if it does._

If the Templars were right and the nightmares were demonic influence, then demons were persistent—and incredibly unimaginative. She had the same nightmare almost every night.

 _I was so stupid_.

She’d been young. Seventeen. The Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold was her first assignment, her last test as an initiate before moving up to affirmed. All she’d ever wanted was to serve the Maker.

And then she’d met Jowan.

*

The Revered Mother stood in the sanctuary, hands raised. “These truths the Maker has revealed to me: As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and he is our Maker.”

Lily didn’t know the Revered Mother’s name. They cycled through Aeonar, never staying long, never getting to know the prisoners. Lily supposed it was safer that way. For everyone. The prisoners didn’t get attached, and the Mothers didn’t get possessed.

“Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift and turned it against his children.”

The drawback of having a new Revered Mother every week was that none of them had any imagination. They were at the mages’ prison, so of course they recited the part of the Chant that dealt with black magic.

 _Why can’t they ever recite from the Canticle of Benedictions or something pretty?_ Lily wondered, huddling in her threadbare cloak. The Chantry was huge and cold even in the summer. At first she had missed the warmth and welcome of the little chapel inside the Circle Tower, but that was gone. She barely remembered Kinloch Hold anymore. Except for the nightmares.

*

 “We are here to minister to the Templars and mages, but the Templars are our priority,” Mother Aura said. “Your assignment here is a great responsibility. The Templars guard us all from the Maleficar, and watch the Circle closely to make sure none rise.”

 Mother Aura’s desk was made of a pale wood that matched the tan of her robes, making the deeper gold accents stand out. Her hands were folded on the desk, where decades, even centuries, of Mothers sitting right there had worn the wood dark and shiny.

 “I understand,” Lily said.

 “This is one of the most difficult assignments, especially for an initiate,” Mother Aura continued. “The tower is a crucible, with mages and Templars forced into constant, close proximity. The Templars are always on alert because if they falter, we may all be overrun by blood mages and abominations.”

 Lily nodded, her fingers twisting together in her lap.

 “There is to be no fraternization with mages or Templars,” Mother Aura said. “Your oaths specifically forbid it, but you must be more vigilant here because of the unique circumstances of the Tower.”

 “Of course, Mother Aura,” Lily said.

 Mother Aura’s face softened a bit. “This is not an easy assignment,” she said. “I will help you through it as best I can. And when you’re ready to move on to the next thing, you will be stronger for it.”

 *

 “He’s taking too long,” Lily fretted. “He went to Irving. Or Greagoir. Or both.”

 “Patience,” Jowan soothed, taking her shoulders. He kissed her, his mouth warm and soft, and she melted into him. He guided her back behind the statue of Andraste and pinned her against it and her breath came fast and hard as he dragged her robe up her thighs and hiked up his own and thrust into her and she bit her lip to suppress the small mewling cries of pleasure that tried to escape and then he drew his knife across her throat and her blood spilled down her chest over the starburst, staining her robes red.

 *

 Her cot was soaked with sweat—not blood, she assured herself, just sweat—and she huddled in a ball waiting for her heart to slow. This was the worst variation on the dream because it left her not only shaken and sweating but also aroused and frustrated. She gritted her teeth, waiting for it to pass.

Eight years she’d been in Aeonar and still the dreams didn’t fade. It didn’t seem fair that a brief, completely inadvisable fling could haunt her for so long after it was over. But that was the nature of Aeonar, she supposed. The “treatments,” the “tests” to see if she was under the influence of a blood mage, drew out her deepest fears and her feelings of failure and stupidity for ever having gotten involved with Jowan in the first place.

The door to her cell banged open and one of the Templars—she never bothered to learn their names or try to tell them apart—said, “It’s time for your treatment.”

*

“Knight-Commander, I was wrong.” Lily lifted her chin. “I assisted a blood mage.” The words caught in her throat. _How could he do this how could he have lied to me I trusted him._ “I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even . . . even Aeonar.”

“Get her out of my sight,” the Knight-Commander said, and two more Templars closed on her. She lowered her head and went with them, Greagoir’s furious shouting and Irving’s more measured tones fading behind her.

“Lily,” one of the Templars said, and she raised her head to see Cullen, hazel eyes confused. “I don’t understand.”

Poor Cullen. He was so devout, so sure of his calling. He never would have dallied with a mage, let alone a blood mage. Disappointing him was like kicking a puppy.

“I know you don’t,” Lily said. Maker willing, he never would.

*

“It’s time for your treatment,” they’d say, and they’d take her to the treatment room and strap her down and inject her with lyrium and wait. Jowan had been terrified of the Harrowing and Lily went through it over and over as the Templars waited to see if she would come back possessed, an abomination they could kill and have done with.

Lily refused to give them the satisfaction.

It was the demons that told her Jowan was dead, that he had been executed for creating an abomination of a lord’s son and poisoning said lord. That Drake himself, now a Grey Warden, had been the one to order his death. Anger flared briefly, and Lily fought it down. Anger was one pathway they would use to take her. Anger that turned to resentment was another. Instead, she forced herself to understand. Drake wouldn’t have made such a decision lightly. Jowan was—had been—a practicing blood mage, a murderer, a black mage whose intentions never matched the results of his actions.

After dozens of treatments, Lily learned to move through the Fade, seeking nicer places to wait out the lyrium dose than the ancient, ruined Fade-version of Aeonar. Whispers of the past showed her that the Fade hadn’t always been this blasted wasteland, and she ached for what had been lost.

And then she’d wake up, and they’d unstrap her and drag her to her cell and dump her on her cot, and she’d lie there until the shaking and vomiting stopped.

*

The boy who stood glaring at the statue of Andraste didn’t look like the usual petitioner, but Lily approached him anyway, as was her duty.

“Greetings, child,” she said.

He turned to face her, gave her body a sweep of his eyes, and snorted. “You’re barely older than I am,” he said.

“We are all children in the eyes of the Maker,” Lily replied mildly. “What brings you to the chapel today?”

“Nothing. I was just wandering around,” he said. “There’s nothing for me here.”

“You’re a mage,” Lily said.

The boy glanced down at his robes, then back up at Lily. “What gave it away?”

Lily gave him her best Revered Mother smile. “We should talk.”

*

“We should talk,” she muttered to herself. Was that the moment she had fallen? Was she doomed the first time she laid eyes on him? Or was it the second, the third? The first time they had sat talking all night? The first time he had touched her hand? The first time she had kissed him? At what point in the madness was she irrevocably lost? Were her oaths broken when she had met him in one of the mages’ hidden rooms and let him touch her, let him see all of her as a woman and not an initiate, let him explore her and enter her? Or was it well before that?

 _I was so stupid_.

The door opened. “You have a visitor,” said the Templar.

*

“No! I won’t let you touch her!” Jowan plunged his knife into his own hand. Dark energy gathered around him, and he cast a wall of force at the Templars and Irving, blood spraying over them. They went flying, collapsing into heaps on the floor.

“I am power! I am death!” Jowan twisted, grew, changed, becoming a beast of horn and scale, looming over the humans. He turned and grabbed her in one enormous paw, and with the other he ripped out her heart. In the manner of dreams, she watched as he devoured it, still beating, blood pouring down his chin.

*

“Lily.”

Mother Aura came to her feet as Lily entered the room. She looked shocked, appalled. Belatedly, Lily tried to smooth her hair with one hand, the other clutching her cloak closed. She hadn’t thought about her appearance in years.

“It’s good to see you, Mother Aura,” Lily croaked. She cleared her throat, but all the screaming had damaged her voice, possibly permanently. “I didn’t know I was allowed to have visitors.”

“I’m not visiting, exactly,” Mother Aura said. “I’m here to help you transition back into the Chantry.”

Lily stared at her, uncomprehending.

“This is the last year of your trial,” Mother Aura explained. “You passed. You’ve been judged clean of the blood mage’s influence and demonic possession.”

“No more treatments?” Lily hardly dared hope.

“No more treatments,” Mother Aura said. “Now we work on healing.”


	2. The White Spire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have bent the timeline slightly here and I haven't read Asunder yet, so let's just call any errors artistic license and leave it at that. ;)

_The first of the Maker’s children watched across the Veil_

_And grew jealous of the life_

_They could not feel, could not touch._

_In blackest envy were the demons born._

_\--Erudition 2:1_

The White Spire glowed at night. It thrust up from the city of Val Royeaux like a sword—or a phallus, Lily thought impiously. It would surprise her not at all if the emperor who had built the thing had been compensating for something.

Mother Aura left her with a sister who didn’t give her name, barely spoke to Lily at all. Tension rippled through the Spire like a living thing. Lily shuddered. At Aeonar, this level of psychic unrest would call up all manner of spirits and demons. But this wasn’t Aeonar. These walls didn’t breathe, didn’t whisper.

Lily followed the sister up the tower to her new living quarters just below the Templars’ space. The Chantry dedicants seemed to serve as a buffer between the Templars and the mages. As Lily understood it, this was a much-needed buffer.

*

Mother Brona did not spare Lily her thoughts.

“I am aware of what happened in Kinloch Hold,” she said. “I will have no such shenanigans here, or I will have you cast out of the order.”

“I understand,” Lily said.

“You will not be allowed anywhere near the mages,” Mother Brona continued. “You will be ministering to the Templars, all of whom are much better able to control themselves than you have been shown to be.”

Lily bowed her head. For a moment, she was furious, but then it faded. Mother Brona was right; she _had_ failed as she had never witnessed a Templar fail.

“Templars sometimes struggle with doubts about the Circle. Helping them overcome those doubts is our most important function. Our second most important is dispensing their lyrium, which allows them to control the mages.”

Mother Brona paused, but Lily said nothing, waiting for her to finish.

“Beginning tomorrow, you will be trained in this function. If you prove dependable, I may allow you to minister to the Templars more directly.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Lily murmured.

“That’s all.” Mother Brona waved her hands at Lily, who fled.

*

Lily came awake shaking and sweating, though thankfully not screaming, then yelped as she saw the young man crouched by her bed.

“What are you doing in here?” she whispered.

“You have bad dreams,” he said, his eyes mostly hidden by his hair and the huge hat he wore. “But they are not true dreams.”

Lily stared at him, and after a moment, she wasn’t sure he had ever been there at all.

*

“First there was the Blight,” Mother Aura said. “Not long after you left the Tower. Then there was Uldred. We nearly lost the entire Circle to blood magic and abominations.”

“Jowan wasn’t the only one?” Lily asked.

“No. There were . . . many more.” Mother Aura sighed. “The Grey Wardens ended the Blight and the Circle began to rebuild. Then there was the Kirkwall Rebellion and the Chantry explosion.”

Lily gasped.

“The Grand Cleric of Kirkwall died, as did Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino. The Chantry is barely holding the Circles together now, and has already lost several of them. We are on the brink of war, child, and I doubt the world will ever be the same.”

_Maybe it shouldn’t be,_ Lily thought. Maybe holding mages in prisons was what caused them to turn to blood magic and demonology in the first place. But she kept that thought to herself.

*

“Thank you for your service, Templar,” Lily murmured, handing the man in front of her a glowing blue vial.

“In the Maker’s name,” the Templar replied, then drank his dose and moved on. Lily didn’t even look at him. There was no point. They were all the same, all faceless, nameless men and women in heavy armor.

“Thank you for your service, Templar.” Lily handed out another vial.

It was boring, and repetitive, and worlds better than being at Aeonar.

And because it was boring and repetitive, nobody noticed her slipping a vial of lyrium into her pocket.

*

“You shouldn’t take that.”

The odd boy was back, and Lily’s hand, clutching the blue vial, hesitated halfway to her mouth.

“It doesn’t help you. It just makes it worse.”

“Not having it is worse,” Lily argued.

“Only for a while,” he said. “And then you’ll heal, bind together, your mind separating from the Fade.”

Lily’s breath came harsh in her ears, and she downed the vial, her eyes locked on the boy until he faded from sight and memory.

*

Whispers, but not from the walls. Whispers from Templars, from dedicants, from the occasional mage who crossed Lily’s path.

The Nevarran Accord—nullified.

The Templar Order—broken into factions.

The Inquisition—re-formed.

Fighting everywhere.

Some leave. Others stay. When Lord Seeker Lucius empties the vaults of lyrium and the halls of Templars and heads to Therinfal Redoubt, Lily goes with them. So does the boy, though most don’t see him.

The walls of Therinfal Redoubt don’t whisper. They scream.

The lyrium in Therinfal Redoubt isn’t blue. It’s red.

Lily doesn’t touch it.

*

“Lyrium is addictive,” Mother Aura said. “It’s an unfortunate side-effect that the Chantry accepts because it helps the Templars fight magic. They’ve been filling you full of it for years.”

Lily looked up from her puke-filled bucket, holding back a sharp reply.

“So few people who come to Aeonar ever leave,” she continued. “And there’s no cure for the addiction. You just have to wait it out.”

Lily spat into the bucket and reached for a nearby glass of water.

“Nightmares. Forgetfulness. Paranoia.”

“I have all that now,” Lily croaked.

“Many people die from it,” Mother Aura said as if Lily hadn’t spoken. She reached into the pocket of her overdress and handed Lily a small blue vial. “I don’t intend to let that happen to you.”

*

“The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.”

Lily leaned against a stone pillar, out of sight of everyone in the courtyard.

“The Breach won’t be overcome with words,” said the warrior in the middle, flanked by a massive Qunari and a woman in a Seeker tunic. “Hope won’t make it disappear.” She looked at each Templar in turn, and Lily was sure the Herald’s eyes met even hers, hidden as she was back here.

“If Templars still stand against ruinous magic, this is the moment to fulfill your pledge.”

The Templars agreed to the terms and made ready to march. Lily fell in with them. She had nowhere else to go.


	3. The Inquisition

_“Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,_

_An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown._

_You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr._

_Within My creation, none are alone.”_

\-- _Canticle of Andraste 1_

The Herald of Andraste, they called her. Or Inquisitor. Or Lady Trevelyan.

Lily’s initial impression of her as a warrior turned out to be wrong; rather than a sword, she carried paired daggers and was all lean muscle and flexibility rather than the solidness of The Iron Bull or Cassandra. She was also magnetic, and not just because of the glowing green mark on her left hand. She radiated command and comfort.

Next to her—which Lily rarely was at first—Lily felt like an alienage beggar.

*

The Breach was a green wound in the sky, lightning streaking through it, tinting the clouds a sickly, poisonous green. It was hard to look at, so Lily didn’t. She turned away, following the Templars and the odd young man into Haven.

The commander of the Inquisition forces was familiar. He was older now, with new scars and a sadness in his eyes, but she recognized him anyway. He looked right at her as he greeted the Templar arrivals, but said nothing. She slunk away, wrapping her numbness around herself to keep from caring.

Mother Giselle greeted her in the Chantry, but her real interest was the dwarf speaking to a beautiful woman with an Antivan accent. It seemed the Inquisition was well stocked with lyrium—and not the red stuff.

*

Lily watched from the steps of the Chantry as the Templars and the Herald closed the Breach.

She ran with everyone else out the back of the Chantry when the army of mages and a dragon attacked.

She followed them up into the mountains, helping Mother Giselle when necessary, carrying a child until his mother appeared, tending fires.

Cullen found her throwing up behind one of the tents when they made camp to wait for the Herald, hoping against hope that she had survived.

He handed her a blue vial, and she stared at him, uncomprehending.

“The addiction is . . . powerful,” he said. “I know what you’re going through. Take it.”

She did.

He left.

She had the distinct sensation that she had failed a test.

*

Ylsa Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, smelled like two weeks in the desert without a bath.

“Thank you for your help, Lily,” she said as Lily pulled her boots off and tossed them into a corner. “I know I told you I don’t want a lady’s maid, but maybe I need one.”

Lily managed a smile up at her before helping her peel her stinking leather armor off.

“I remembered something,” the Herald said. “Didn’t you minister in the Chantry in Haven?”

“Yes,” Lily said.

“But you don’t wear the robes now, and I never see you in the garden.”

“I no longer serve, your worship.”

“Why not? Have you lost your faith? And please don’t call me that.”

“No, your—Lady Trevelyan. I have faith. But the Chantry is no longer the place for me.”

She looked confused, but didn’t press the matter.

*

“I should be taking it!”

Lily stopped, message in hand, outside the open door to Cullen’s office.

“This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition.” The Inquisitor’s voice was firm but kind. “Is this what _you_ want?”

A long pause.

“No.”

Lily stepped sideways as the Inquisitor left, not even glancing at her. Lily entered the office, cautiously. Cullen stood behind his desk, sweating, shaking out his right hand as though it hurt.

“Message for you, Commander,” she said, placing it on his desk.

“Thank you.”

She hesitated until he actually looked at her, recognition dawning.

“You’ve quit lyrium,” she said. He nodded. “How?”

He exhaled, half a laugh. “With considerable difficulty.”

“You could go mad. Die.”

“I could. Or I could be ripped in half by an archdemon tomorrow.”

She lowered her head and turned to go.

“I remember you,” he said. “From the Ferelden Circle.”

She cringed. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yes.”

When he didn’t say anything else, she left.

*

“You are not broken.”

Cole sat on the end of her bed, hair in his face, not quite looking at her.

“You are strong. You have been made weak, but you can repair yourself.”

Twelve hours since her last dose, Lily was shaking and sweating. “I don’t think I can,” she said. “I made one mistake, and it will follow me forever.”

“No,” Cole said. “Not if you don’t let it.”

*

Cool hands touched her forehead, her throat, her arm. Murmured voices spoke just out of range. Someone held her hair as she threw up.

“She was a heavy user,” a voice said. “Far heavier than your average Templar. I get irritable and have flashbacks and sometimes forget where I am. She could die.”

“How did she get to this state?”

Cullen—for it was Cullen—sighed heavily. “Someday I’ll tell you about the horrors of Aeonar prison. For now, suffice to say that she has a long road ahead of her.”

*

“He’s taking too long,” Lily fretted.

Jowan sighed heavily. “Do we have to do this every time?”

Lily stopped pacing. “You’re the one who does it to me,” she said. “I know I’m dreaming. I know my mind is in the Fade. I know _you_ are a spirit, and not Jowan. Jowan’s dead.”

The spirit raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, this is new and different. How are you doing that?”

_You’ll heal, bind together, your mind separating from the Fade._

Though not said aloud, the words echoed between them.

“I see.” The spirit smiled. “I am Regret. It seems you no longer have need of me.”

“No,” Lily said. “And I am not sad to see the last of you.”

“Best of luck to you, Lily.”

*

“You awake.” The bald elf watched her impassively. “The Inquisitor was most concerned about your health and bid me watch at your bed.”

“That’s very kind of her,” Lily whispered.

“She cares for all her people,” he said. “It is her greatest strength.”

He reached for his staff and rose, then hesitated. “What have you seen? In the Fade?”

“Glory and despair,” she whispered. “And Regret.”

His head tilted slightly to the side, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. “That sounds about right,” he said. “Someday I’d like you to tell me about it.”

*

But he disappeared after the Darkspawn Magister was defeated. The rest of the Inquisition drifted apart, save for the core members—and Lily.

She had nowhere else to go.


	4. Sanctuary

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._

_In their blood the Maker’s will is written._

_\--Benedictions 4:11_

The Mabari bounced around her, barking, and Lily laughed. The ball in her hand was wet with dog slobber, but she was used to that. She threw it, and the Mabari took off, enormous paws leaving gouges in the sod.

“I hope he’s not giving you too much trouble.”

Lily glanced up to see Cullen leaning against a fence post, watching the dog—Halli, since Cullen had found him at Halamshiral.

“No,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Good.” He gave her one of his sideways smiles.

Halli growled and dropped the ball in her basket of clean laundry.

*

Ylsa’s breath was quick, her hands shaking as Lily helped her into the pretty white dress, fastened the gold chain around her neck.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she laughed.

“You’ve earned some happiness, Lady Trevelyan.” Lily smoothed the dress across the Inquisitor’s shoulders and examined her with a critical eye.

“For the four thousandth time, Lily, _please_ just call me Ylsa.” She spared a brief glance at the mirror. “How do I look?”

“Radiant.” Cullen stood in the doorway, eyes locked on Ylsa. “Are you ready?”

Ylsa took Lily’s shoulders, just as dream-Jowan used to, sending a faint flush of fear through her belly. “Thank you, my friend,” she said. “Come witness us?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Lady Trevelyan.”

Ylsa snorted in mock annoyance, and they all went to the courtyard.

*

Cullen paced, Halli watching him nervously. Lily tried to distract the dog, but he was having none of it. His master was anxious, so he was anxious.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Lily said softly. “She’s dealt with far worse than a bunch of unruly Qunari.”

“The anchor wasn’t trying to murder her then,” Cullen said. “And she wasn’t doing so much traveling by magic mirror.”

Cullen paced. And Lily watched.

*

“Solas,” the Inquisitor gasped as she fell out of the Eluvian, her left arm severed at the elbow. “ _Solas_ is fucking Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said. Lily examined the arm, which wasn’t bleeding or cauterized; it was as if the rest of her arm had never existed.

“We have work to do,” Ylsa said, her jaw clenched. “I need to talk to the Exalted Council. _Immediately_.”

*

“I hesitate to ask this of you,” Cullen said, “but I could use your help.”

Lily pushed her hair out of her face and waited.

“Our newest ex-Templar was at Kirkwall. She was . . . violated by blood mages and escaped before they could send her to Aeonar. Her addiction isn’t as severe as yours was, but it’s worse than the average Templar.” Cullen looked at her soberly. “I think your experience will help.”

“Of course,” Lily said.

Cullen turned to leave, then hesitated. “A question, if I may.”

Lily nodded.

“Why have you stayed with us, all this time? Through the Inquisition and . . . everything?”

“You saved my life,” Lily said simply. “You and the Inqui—Lady Trevelyan.”

“Don’t you want more for yourself? A home, a family . . . love?”

“If the Maker sees fit,” Lily said. “But for now, this is my home.” She nodded to the ex-Templars, in various states of withdrawal, meditating in the field. “They are my family. As are you and Lady Trevelyan.”

Cullen smiled. “I, for one, am glad that that blood mage didn’t destroy you, and that you found us,” he said.

“As am I,” Lily said. “And I will continue to help however I can, in the very face of Fen’Harel himself.”

*

The spirit was radiant, clothed in white, but with a familiar face.

“You are better,” he said.

“Yes,” Lily said. “Thanks to you.”

“You saved yourself,” Compassion said. “I just reminded you that you could.”

He touched her face, fingers warm in the coolness of the Fade.

“People like you are the light in the shadow,” he said. “The people who help, who care, who persevere. Wake now, and know that the sun always rises.”

*

Lily woke. The sun rose through her window. Halli barked. The birds sang.

And she was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is easily the weirdest little fic I've ever written. It started with a question--what happened to Lily?--and an interest in telling the story non-linearly. I'm not sure it's any good, but if you've made it this far, thanks for reading.


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